


Defended

by sweetjamielee



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetjamielee/pseuds/sweetjamielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight times Alicia used defense mechanisms to deal with her feelings for Kalinda, and one time she didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defended

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these are based on canon events, some not, and none are in any particular order. Feels good to write again!
> 
> Spoilers for aired episodes.

_~_

_We call them defense mechanisms –psychological measures taken to ward off threatening or uncomfortable unconscious content that we wish to evade.   But Freud purposely never used the word defense (which implies an external intruder against which we may successfully or completely defend).  While we all have inner processes, thoughts, and feelings from which we wish to protect ourselves, Freud did not believe we could ever truly defend against them – the feelings and thoughts will be there, no matter how cleverly our psyche deflects them._

~

***Denial*: _Refusal to acknowledge anxiety-producing content_**

****

Alicia is equal parts gobsmacked and raging.  “Please tell me that this is some kind of horrible mistake,” she half-asks, half-begs.

Or a nightmare.  A nightmare is also an acceptable answer, provided she will wake up soon and not have to deal with any more of the operatic nonsense that apparently makes up the totality of Kalinda’s life.

Cary looks older than she’s ever seen him; looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.  “I wish.  She’s been charged with first degree murder. “

Alicia sinks weakly to her chair.  “God.”  She has a million questions, most of them Cary probably cannot answer, but she can’t help starting to ask anyway.  “Was it defense?  Do you think?  Or did she just, you know… want him gone?”

“I think it was…  a type of defense,” Cary responds cautiously, scrubbing his face and sounding not particularly lawyerly at the moment, which Alicia forgives him for because she’s not feeling professional right now either.  She’s already replaying the last months in her head, all the ‘I’m fine’s’ and ‘don’t worry about it’s’. 

“I knew he was bad news,” she fumes.    “I kept asking.  But why would you ask for help -- _like an adult_ \-- when you can just commit murder?”

Cary is wincing like he’s the one accepting her verbal blows.  “Maybe we should suspend judgment for now.  It’s not going to help us help her.”

“ _Should_ we help her? “  She doesn’t say it with heart – of course she’ll help Kalinda – but it seems a legitimate question.  Alicia sighs the sigh of the long-suffering.  “Seriously, Cary.  If she were in danger, we could have helped her if she would have just said something.   But then she goes and does _this…”_

“For you.”  He says it so quietly she almost just rampages over it, but something stops her.  She cocks her head, trying to hear something different.

“For you,” he repeats, driving it home.  “I talked to her, figured it out.  He was threatening you.”

That is ridiculous.  Alicia has worked as a defense attorney for long enough that she knows something about people who kill people, and the reasons they do it.  And they do it for money, or…

_Or for the other thing._

“No,” she says faintly.  A fog descends, she feels ever-so-briefly numb.

“Alicia?  I told you, I talked to her.  I asked, and she didn’t deny it, and you know that means…”

“ _No.”_ She says it firmly this time, with great conviction, and that gives the word potency.  Her eyes refocus and she looks directly at him this time.  “That’s not true.”  A nearly eerie calm takes residence in her brain, in her bones; she’s able to think again, logical and rational.  “Now.  Let’s make a plan.  Yes?”

He stares and his mental wheels are turning, trying to understand what just happened and if he should insist that she listen to him, hear the truth.  The word “no” remains poised on her tongue and he sees it there; wisely chooses not to fight this fight.

“Yes,” he concedes, and sits across from her for an endless night’s work. 

A murder defense will be easy for Alicia when compared with accepting the motive behind it.

 

***Repression*: _Keeping anxiety-producing content at a distance_**

****

Kalinda tells her she’s missed this, as they sit parallel to one another in the two-bed room at the cottage;  together but separate, medicinal wine clutched in their hands.  Alicia finds no words in return and settles for wishing – wishing the last year would just fall through the cracks of the floor, wishing she never knew about Kalinda and Peter, wishing she could just talk about the dreams she’s having, the new tangled mess of her feelings, the way she used to.  Keeping Kalinda at arm’s ( _bed’s)_ length is an instinctive response, absolutely uncontrollable.  But Alicia can feel every inch of the gaping chasm while her lips and tongue refuse to move – _I missed this too; I miss_ you.

That night, those wine-tinted dreams again – bits and pieces, breathless cries and soul-deep moans, an electric thrum throughout her body that pulses with each kiss, each teasing touch. And when she parts her thighs to see the truth between them there is Kalinda’s coy smile – _I missed this._

In this morning before Alicia even slides her feet to the ground the image has been extinguished and efficiently metamorphosed, and she wonders with irritation why she cannot stop dreaming of Will Gardner.

 

***Displacement* -- _Transferring anxiety-producing content to a safer target_**

****

The old days – Alicia and Kalinda, out in the field, investigating and crime-fighting side by side.  It’s not as glamorous as Alicia would have expected – sitting in the car for over an hour now, watching the same door, waiting for the same person who may or may not come out.  There is a breeze through the open window, but the car is sitting in the sun and Alicia feels incubated.  The scent of Kalinda’s perfume (ivy, Alicia thinks) is familiar from some department-store tester long ago and far away, but smells hotter here, on her.  Kalinda’s face is cool, unmoved; but her hair is damp at the temples. 

“So you’re together again .  Really.”  Kalinda’s conversation-making has never minced words, and for some reason has often been inappropriately fixated on Alicia’s love life.

“Really,” Alicia repeats, and she feels annoyed at the instinctive urge (one that she felt she long conquered) to explain, to say how complicated and not-what-it-seems together _really_ is with her husband.  But no matter the question, Kalinda never seems particularly interested in or sold on explanations, so Alicia restrains herself.

“Hmm.”  Kalinda hasn’t looked at her this whole stakeout, but she does now.  “I hope it’s satisfying.” 

 _What does_ that _mean?_  Alicia wonders, and she’s irritated again – like Kalinda would know any better than she what would make for a satisfying relationship.  Kalinda with her sly smile, with her one nights and no repercussions, whose breasts are the most effective of investigative tools.  Kalinda with her leather, her short skirts and bare thighs, with her heady perfume that’s everywhere, everywhere…

“Here we go,” Kalinda says, her camera up and snapping before Alicia can switch focus from the woman across from her, to the man they’ve been waiting for.  The fact that she completely missed it ticks her off, too.

She needs to not go on any more stakeouts with Kalinda.

That night, she responds to Peter’s smile and proffered wine with a demand to take off his pants.  The countertop hard and unrelenting underneath her as she comes more intensely than she has for years, she ignores the lingering scent of ivy on her clothes.

 

***Projection*: _Disguising anxiety-producing content by attributing it to others_**

****

She’s not sure when she started noticing it, but once she started she saw it all the time… the standing too close, the hushed-voice conversations, the secretive smiles.  At some point Will and Kalinda had become buddy-buddy, and she knows what it means to be Kalinda’s buddy.  It shouldn’t matter, it isn’t her business, but feelings are funny things that never seem to stay buried.  Why, _why_ does he want _her?_ Why does _everyone_ want her _?_

She sees Kalinda leave his office with a small smile on her face; she gives Alicia a cordial nod as she passes that feels like a slap in the face.   When Alicia enters his office she barely remembers what she came there for.

“She wants a raise.  Again.”  Will sighs, tossing his expensive pen carelessly to his desk.  “I’m thinking of giving in.  We might have to fire the entire office staff and answer our own phones, but you know.  Can’t win cases without Kalinda.”

Something flares inside of Alicia – that irritating, niggling thing that’s been plaguing her for months.  It’s out of her mouth before she realizes it.

“You want to sleep with her, don’t you? Or have you already?”

Will looks genuinely surprised at the accusation – less at the content, more at the gall.  “Alicia?”

It’s like an out-of-body experience – hearing the bitter words leave her lips, feeling absolutely no control over them at all.  “It’s okay, it doesn’t make you different than anyone else here.  Apparently sleeping with Kalinda is some sort of firm rite-of-passage that no one clued me in on when I joined.”

It is perhaps lucky for Alicia that Will is not a typical boss, and they do not have a typical relationship, because this conversation is miles – _parsecs --_ beyond appropriate.  “Alicia, Kalinda and I are friends and colleagues.  Just like the two of you are.  Where is this coming from?”

It is nothing like Alicia and Kalinda are – not anymore.  She feels color rush to her cheeks, a delayed reaction, and she has absolutely no idea why she chose here and now to make such an ass of herself in such an inexplicable way.

“I’m sorry,” she half-whispers.  “Can we just talk about the case?” 

Will is kind enough to let her.

 

***Rationalization*: _Replacing anxiety-provoking explanations with more comforting justifications_**

****

“You need help?”

Kalinda’s voice is polite, and to most people perfunctory.  But Alicia is more fluent in Kalinda-ese than most people and in her mind hears the translation – _Say the word and I will take care of this motherfucker in a way you’ll never have to know about, and will never be traced back to us._

Alicia smiles at her, appreciative but feeling independent at the moment.  “No, thanks.  I’ll call you if I need something.”

A nod and one last, flickering look at the man sitting across from Alicia’s desk before Kalinda takes her leave.  Alicia can never quite tell with Kalinda, but that little flash in her eyes looks something like hatred.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised,” Wiley says, leaning back in his chair and faux kind, casual except not at all.  She had been hoping that they would never cross paths again (unless they were in a dark alley, and she had a weapon), but here he is again – asking questions about a client that Alicia will never answer, and he really is wasting her time.   Especially with the personal stuff that she never, ever wants to hear about again.

But he’s proven himself a meddlesome brat several times over, and he blithely continues on, apparently unconcerned with even _seeming_ professional.  “Staying with your husband… I get that.  Kids, you know, gotta do what’s best for them.” He oozes paternal understanding.   “But _her_ …”  A glance toward the door Kalinda had just exited.  “ I don’t think most women could do it.  That would be very hard, I imagine.  Very hard.”

Alicia smiles stiffly and shouldn’t even say a word, but no one has ever asked her and there’s a voice screaming a cacophonous mantra  of _JUSTIFY_  in her brain.   “Kalinda’s very good at her job, Mr. Wiley.”  _Better than him… except that once.  He’d outsmarted her once._ “And as you know, the best lawyer is nothing without a good investigator.”

“Hmm.”  He smiles, and yes, a brat – Canning awful, maybe even Kresteva awful.   “Well, that _is_ a good reason.”

And then he changes the subject and the reason she gave is a very good reason, a _great_ reason and Alicia sleeps at night because of it.  The words “a reason” and “the reason” aren’t all that different, and she sees no cause to distinguish.

 

***Reaction Formation*: _Expressing the opposite of the anxiety-producing content_**

****

It’s been a few months since they’ve been trying to make things work – _officially_ \--  and perhaps that’s why Peter feels safe enough to take the chance in asking.  “You’ve been working so hard lately.”  He’s using a touch of his politician voice _:_ empathy… with a motive.  “Maybe it would be good to get out?  You know.  Relax.”

Alicia is poking at her laptop – she has never been able to remember the difference between the shift and control keys, and right now neither of them seems to be doing anything she wants – and not really paying attention.  “We just went out to dinner three nights ago.”

“Well, I mean.” He clears his throat.  “Just you.  With a friend.”

That makes Alicia’s fingers still, just for a second. The friend thing is a touchy issue.

“You haven’t really spent time with Kalinda in awhile, have you?” he queries, carefully, and there’s a flash of something that ignites inside of Alicia at the sound of _her_ name in _his_ voice.  It turns to ash as quickly as it caught fire, and her face barely changes.

“No, I suppose not.”  Her voice is as still as water on a calm day – only someone with preternaturally keen senses would discern even a hint of storm, far off on the horizon.  She hits keys faster; one of them, _any_ of them has to work.

For some reason Peter misses that electric warning in the air, or is feeling bold enough tonight to press forward in spite of it.  “You’re friends again, right?  You’ve forgiven her.”

Something Alicia has pressed has frozen her screen, and a blue circle is twirling, telling her helpfully that the page is Not Responding.  And the forgiveness thing (like the friend thing) is a hairy, hairy issue, because she has wanted to, tried, said she would forgive and there is this invisible barrier (miles wide, oceans thick) that somehow exists only for Kalinda.  “Something like that,” she says tightly, and the warning isn’t even subtle now, there is ominous thunder that Peter still ignores.

“You know…”  He stops, considers, and then just says it.  “I’m not the only person who loves you.  Other people care too.  Why can’t you just…”

But the word – _love –_ causes another of those violent sonic pulses inside of her, and her eyes flash with it.  He cannot talk about love and Kalinda at the same time, he cannot, he _cannot,_ and Alicia can’t think of it.   “Because I hate her,” she breathes.  “I _hate her.”_

 _That_ stops him – the vehemence in her voice, the pain in it.  The protest.

“Okay,” he says, after beats that feel like years.  “I won’t mention it again.”  But his face shows shock and curiosity – _do you mean it?  Really?_

She’s not sure anymore.  But it’s certainly easier than believing anything else.

 

***Regression*: _Retreating to a more comfortable or immature coping style_**

****

“Thanks for doing this,” she tells her brother, who is rooting through the fridge.  “I really need a night out and… _no._ Please?  Not tonight. _”_

Owen is admiring the half-bottle of pinot blanc he has found.  “No harm in looking.  And don’t mention it, I’m a born kidsitter.  Maybe I’ll even get them out of their rooms later.  Where you going again?”

Alicia fastens her remaining earring and watches hawk-like until the wine is away and the lemonade is out. “Just out.  With a friend.  A _woman,_ ” she articulates at the threatened wiggling of Owen’s eyebrow.

“Good for you.  Then go out.  Shoo.  Be gone.  Away with you.”

She’s dressed.  Hair done.  Jewelry on.  She hesitates.  “We said eight.  Don’t want to be early.”

Owen rolls his eyes.  “Christ.  The fashionably late thing?  I didn’t know women did that crap with each other.”

Well.  Alicia doesn’t.  Usually.  With men _or_ women.  For some reason the thought of sitting there, waiting for Kalinda, feels…

“What are you doing?” Owen inquires.

Silly.  “You’re right.  I’m heading out.  Tequila will be my company.”  She pushes the chair back; it screeches unnaturally loud on the tile floor.

“No, your nails.”

It takes a second to register, and once it does she pulls her hand away from her mouth like it’s been slapped.

“Wow.  I haven’t seen you chomp like that since we were in elementary school.  Got a big test coming up, Nervous Nellie?”

She _hasn’t_ chewed her fingernails since elementary school.  Her mother had dragged her to a few sessions with her life coach, who had taught Alicia breathing exercises that had been surprisingly useful in stressful situations.  (It didn’t hurt that Veronica also shellacked acrylics to Alicia’s nails that felt like biting glass.)  She’d forgotten that it had ever been a problem. 

“Just a rough week,” she murmurs.

She leaves and drives slowly, slowly – gripping the steering wheel to avoid temptation.

 

***Sublimation*: _Transforming unacceptable impulses into more positive or socially acceptable behaviors_**

****

She hasn’t done this in years; Will tells not to be nervous.  Just like riding a bike.  Except in the unlikely event that one _doesn’t_ remember how to ride a bike, it isn’t the case that someone else will spend life in prison like Jennifer Lewis will if Alicia’s litigating abilities have gotten rusty in the past decade plus.

She is fumbling; her words aren’t forming, and her neurons aren’t firing at the rate they need to in order to keep up with prosecutor.   She’s losing, and this is all a big mistake.

A small piece of paper and big block letters:  CALM DOWN.  She glances to the gallery and sees Kalinda – who doesn’t look like any investigator Alicia has ever seen, who walks around Lockhart Gardner like she owns it even though she has not an office to her name.  Kalinda rolls her eyes when Alicia accepts calls from her children, and is very obviously babysitting her so she doesn’t make the firm –and hence Kalinda – look bad.

Kalinda is also very, very pretty.

Currently, that pretty face is giving Alicia a look – _don’t fuck this up._

It is that moment that Alicia makes a half-conscious decision to use whatever means necessary to win this.

Not so long after, after Alicia smoothly introduces doubt about her client’s guilt into the jurors’ minds, she turns and hazards a glance back to the gallery and there’s Kalinda again – a small smile and nod from her enigmatic face, and maybe, _maybe_ something approximating impressed.

Inside Alicia there is a bright tingle, something warm and exciting.  It is the nicest thing she’s felt since a viral video featuring her husband took all the nice away.  If she’s honest with herself, it’s the nicest thing she’s felt since long, long before that.

Her performance earns her a drink and a court win, and an assurance that she will continue to earn that pleased expression from the back of the gallery for a very long time.

 

***Cartharsis*: _Not a defense mechanism.  An emotional release – a purging of tension caused by unconscious conflicts_**

****

Kalinda is gasping against Alicia’s mouth, possibly deprived of oxygen or maybe just surprised, but Alicia won’t let go, she _can’t_ let go now to find out.  This kiss at once feels the most glorious tensity and sweetest absolution, and there is no stopping.

When she finally breaks free, Kalinda asks breathlessly “Why?  Why _now_?” before Alicia simply claims her lips again.

Alicia would answer if she knew.  Kalinda is owed an answer, _needs_ an answer; because Alicia knows her by now, knows Kalinda is Titanic-strong – unsinkable, yet truly, tragically not, and this could be very, very bad for her.

But Alicia doesn’t know the whys or hows or whens .  She doesn’t know what will happen, what this will lead to.  She doesn’t know if it will save or destroy them.

 All she knows is that no matter what mental measures she takes, these feelings refuse to leave her.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [See-Through](https://archiveofourown.org/works/862798) by [lunchinanelevator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchinanelevator/pseuds/lunchinanelevator)




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